


For Your Touch

by onpage26



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deepthroating, F/M, Oral Sex, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onpage26/pseuds/onpage26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate universe, if celebrities were only people. Not famous or well known, just people you could run into at a coffee shop or restaurant. Re-worked after initial first post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tom Hiddleson’s “Elle” magazine cover photo and the suit he worn in “Midnight in Paris” while playing F. Scott Fitzgerald.
> 
> Wrote some, waited then the plot line may have ran away and left nothing but smut. Enjoy!

Waiting, constantly waiting.

Waiting for what? A man, a dream, a wish, a look, a kiss?

Her eyes flutter open; aware, painfully so, of her reality, her existence or lack thereof. Her room is filled with adventures, and her world is overwhelmed by pedestrian actions. Day after day her routine stays the same; wake, eat, work, eat, read, sleep. The only excitement of her day, the little adventures she goes on before bed; her dreams are filled with knights on white horses – some literal, some figurative.

She is waiting, constantly waiting.

He comes to her in her sleep. Slowly revealing him to her; a glint of blue eyes, tapered fingers, an errant lock. Night after night he comes to her in her sleep. Each night revealing more, a broad chest lightly dusted in ginger hair, a slender waist, a promise of dreams to be satisfied.

She is waiting for him, in her waking dreams and in her sleepless nights; she waits for him.

As she lays awake, begging for sleep she dreams of him. When she finally sleeps she sees him. His lean and powerful form, ivory skin, soft lips, and chiseled face. Each morning she wakes, longing not to see his face but to feel his embrace. To feel his arms like bands of steel to wrap around her soft and pliant figure. To feel his lips caress hers. To reach out with trembling hand and touch his face. But most of all, she longs to hear his voice. She could find him in a crowd instantly, but she would not know his voice.

She hears a beautiful melody. Would his voice sends chills down her spine? A weeping violin; would his voice make her weep? The cello sings a dark and mournful lullaby; would his voice stir an unknown passion within her?

Night after night, she goes on romantic dates in Paris, horseback riding in the English country side, and dalliances under the moonlight. Day after day, she sits at her desk in a fog. Morosely staring at her computer and co-workers. Each morning she wakes with her skin feverish to the touch, her senses alight, and each evening she slips beneath her covers with such anticipation she quivers with need.

Till one day.

A piece of paper flutters to her desk, blankly she grabs at it not even paying attention to the words or picture on it. It’s an advertisement for a new restaurant, something classy and upscale. Numbly she registers her co-worker is talking to her, he is asking her to dinner - to the classy, upscale restaurant. She wants to decline, she wants to sleep. But she knows she can’t live like that, so she says yes.

A date. 6pm the car will pick her up.

She dresses with care, the first time in weeks. She doesn’t dress for her date, she dresses for him. The knight of her dreams. A black V-neck cut dress, with a mermaid fit that teases her ankles made of satin. She adorns herself with pearls; two drops on her ears, and one large pearl sits heavily between her breasts. Her shoes are red, peep toe heels; the only pop of color aside from her lips - a luscious ruby. Her makeup, expertly done, brings out a woman of certain sensuality; and her long blond hair coiffed to reveal this sensual creature.

The car arrives and takes her to this classy and upscale place. One hand holds her clutch, while the other her wrap. There is a chill in the air that seems unnatural, not in its temperature but in its origin; almost other worldly. As she crosses the threshold, and looks for her Date, her eyes are arrested by a tall man. He is lean, powerful; his fingers are tapered, and features chiseled. Without question, the man she sees in a glorious fitted suit of heather grey is the man from her dreams. And when his two piercing pale blue eyes finds her brown ones, she had no air left to breath.

Dismissing her date, she moves towards him. He is leaning against the bar, glass in one hand the other gesturing in conversation. She makes her way to him, opposition from people and chairs makes her journey slow going but she perseveres. A hand grasps her elbow, she turns to admonish the offender but it is her Date. Before she can give any opposition, he whisks her away to a private table for two romantically lit with candles.

She is torn with need. Need to find Him and be embraced by him; but the need to let Him go as well. She knows she cannot live in the shadows forever; a life is before her and her Date is a promise that she could live it well. They talk, of everything and nothing. Soon she finds herself forgetting Him, losing herself in fine wine and food; but the lascivious look her date gives her time after time quells whatever enjoyment she may have had. When they make to leave, she scans the bar desperately hoping to see the tall, handsome man in a heather grey suit; but he is gone. Her Date tries for a kiss when he drops her off, but she fends him away. She had a chance to meet the man from her dreams and this lewd man before her took that chance away. She loathes him. 

As she goes through her evening ablutions she relives seeing Him for the first time to realize that he is not just something she dreamed of but someone who is real, corporeal. Oh to see Him; to see him in finery beyond her imagination. He is taller than she imagined, far more striking that she pictured, but his smile - while not for her - was just as arousing, if not more so, as the smile she saw every night. Now she knows what his eyes look like when he smiles, little laugh lines crinkle on either side, and his face transforms to something almost angelic.

Restless was her sleep. Tossing and turning, she could not sleep to dream. An ache grew that no amount of self-serving could ease; the only cure for this ache was him. With sleep eluding her, she roused and resolved to find him.

Every night she would return to that restaurant, and every night she would come home bereft over her loss at a chance to meet Him, whoever he is. Her friends draw her out, coffee here and shopping there. One day shopping, weeks after the date that remains scorned, she sees a dress. Cobalt linen with a Queen Ann cut neckline and full A-line skirt. She holds against herself listening to her friends encourage her to try and buy. They tell her of a dance bar on the board walk, they tell her how perfect her dress would look in that bar on the board walk. Right out of a movie they say. If it leads her to Him, she doesn’t care. They beg and plead and she finally concedes, she will dance in the cobalt dress this weekend, but then she will resume her quest.

He comes to her again that night. But this time it’s different. This time He seems closer yet farther at the same time, he isn’t wearing his usual black trousers, and white button down with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. He is wearing a navy suit, something reminiscent of days past. The cut is different, but on him just as exquisite. They dance the night away.

The evening of her date with her friends to the dance bar on the board walk she dresses with care; everything done for His eyes and his appreciation. They travel en-mass on the board walk, laughing and sparking; and when they arrive at the bar in the dance bar, she lingers. She watches her friends whirl and twirl with handsome men as she sips her drink. The hand not holding her beverage rests on the bar, idle. She smiles to herself as her friends dance, she is happy for them.

A slender yet masculine hand reaches out, and gently grasps her idle one. The hand draws hers up to a pair of soft lips curved in a seductive smile. Her eyes slowly take in the face that belongs to the lips that are pressing the barest of kisses to her hand. Chiseled features and piercing pale blue eyes and wavy ginger brown hair give way to a tall man with broad shoulders and narrow waist. He is wearing a navy suit, something reminiscent of days past. The cut is different, but on him just as exquisite.

“May I have this dance?” His voice is deep, like a cello singing a mournful lullaby. Breathlessly she replies, “Yes.” Then, they waltz. First slowly, then gaining momentum; he draws her closer to him as they spin along the dance floor. “Your name?” he murmurs in her ear, “Rachel, yours?” she replies. “Thomas, but you must call me Tom. I have spent weeks trying to find you since that night. Did you know that?” He sounds almost annoyed; she glances up to his face, her brown eyes searching his blue. Surely he mustn’t think that she was avoiding him? Unsure as to what to say, Rachel remains silent. Tom, unperturbed by her silence continues, “That man you were with, you are not with him anymore.” It should have been a question, not a statement and certainly not a direction; it matters not, the answer is the same – no. Rachel shakes her head, and he lowers his. Right before their lips touch, he growls, “Good.”

Rachel spent months dreaming of his embrace, lips, and voice. Nothing prepared her for the sensual slow caress of his hand along her spine, of the firm yet soft lips pressing against her demanding she yield to him. Her hands roam, exploring his hard chest and back, and drifting lower to rest on his hips. With one hand he pulls her body flush to his, and the other angles her head to deepen the kiss as his tongue makes playful sweeps along the seam of her lips. She opens her lips and their tongues embark on a sensual battle that leaves her gasping for breath and on shaky legs. When he releases her, her lips are red and swollen. Tom’s lips curl in smug satisfaction; this woman has tormented his waking hours and haunted his sleeping ones for nigh over a month. She is his, and now she knows it.

“Let us take in the air, you seem flushed my dear.” Tom placed her hand on his arm and escorts her outside. He catches their reflection; they do make a striking couple. Her fair skin against his dark navy suit contrast sharply in the moonlight. She’s tall, not at tall as him – even with heels, but as they walk he can admire the curve of her jaw, neck, and breasts. A small pressure point on her neck, one kiss could tell him her heart beat; what would it take to make it race? Pulse? For her breath to hitch, and her eyes flutter. He wonders, slowly waiting; poised for the moment her guard is down. Her lips, full and elegant, are begging him to kiss them. He looks at her delicate hand placed artfully on his sleeve; his mind conjures what she could do with her lips and her hands, what her deep brown eyes would look like when they are looking up at him.

For nights he has dreamed of this woman, of her lips, of her touch. Morning after morning he woke aroused at the mere thought of her smalls hands taking him, holding him, caressing him. Now she stands beside him, they are at the end of the board walk and overlooking the ocean. The crashing waves become the rhythm that he uses to slowly grind his hips against her. Subtle first, only the barest of contact gives her indication of what he is doing. As he increases contact, she falls against him and grinds back; matching his pace and pressure. He slowly feathers his fingers up and down her arms, in pace and pressure with his hips. Each pass his hands get closer, linger longer, on the neckline of her dress. Each time his fingers faintly follow her neckline, the palm of his hands press indiscernibly – at first – against her breasts. Every time a wave crashes, his hips press into her, his hands press against her, and his fingers touch her. And every time she gasps and moans.

Keeping time with the ocean he murmured in her ear, “Shall we adjourn to someplace more private or do you want me to make you come. Right. Now.” The last two words said between bites to her ear lobe. She moans an undiscernible sound, her hands grasping his thighs tightly. “Yes or no, Rachel. What will it be?” This time his fingers brush against her harden nipples, his erection more than painful but nuzzled happily against her ass thrusts as his fingers tease her nipples. She clings to him, her head thrown back against his shoulder, “Please,” she begs.

Tom being ever the gentleman complies with her request. His left hand guides her lips to his, and holds them to his. His right hand slips under the plunge neckline of her dress, his fingers teasing and rolling her sensitive nipple, while his hand mold and shape her breast to his hand. He swallows her moan, and responds in kind with a thrust. He presses her against the railing, grinding against her now at a ruthless pace. His left hand drifts down across her abdomen, and lower still; he cups her mound and presses the heel of his palm against her. She’s close, so close to coming; as is he. His right hand alternates between breasts as his left relentlessly teases her. She crosses the precipice as a wave crashes, crying out his name. He lets her collect herself while he holds her. He keeps his groin away from her delectable ass. Her eyes flutter open, sated and coy smile crosses her lips. She turns, grasps his lapels and presses her breasts against his chest; her tongue flicks across her lips as she turns her brown eyes to his blue, “Thomas, it seems you have been forgotten. We can’t have that, now can we?”

“My car is down the way, a short walk. Shall I drive us to someplace quiet?” He hopes she says his place. He hopes he can make all his dreams come true. She nods. They stroll down the board walk, as if nothing in the world matters to his car. He helps her inside, a sly smile crossing his lips. He starts the car and they drive the short distance to his beach front condo. After parking and escorting her inside he lets loose his reigns.

He presses her against the door, holding her hands above her head, kissing her deeply and grinding against her. He is ruthless with his assault. With one hand he holds her wrists and with the other he drags the zipper of her dress down, he can’t have her touch him. Not yet, he would come in his pants if she touched him now. He draws her hands down, pulling her dress down and off in the process. He steps back, leaving her naked but for her shoes before him. He works fast on removing his own clothing, desperate to feel her flesh against his. She had been oddly quiet, but as soon as he stood before her naked as well, she purrs.

“Thomas, let me show you what my dreams have been of. Let me show you how I have spent every night for weeks dreaming of. I have touched myself time after time thinking of your hard cock in my mouth, in my hands, and in my cunt. I have longed for this, please let me.” And with no warning she lowers herself down to her knees between his.

He braces himself with one hand on the door, and the other clenching and unclenching at his side. She runs her hands up and down his thighs, like he did on the board walk, each pass her thumbs getting closer to what he wants her to touch, to lick, to suck. His balls tighten and his cock pulses. She places hot open kisses on the tops of his thighs, right above his cock, everywhere but where he wants her. He growls in frustration, it earns him a smirk and a devilish gleam in her eyes. Without breaking eye contact she opens her lips and draws him in. Her mouth like a hot little haven for his cock, her lips press down and her tongue licks. He gasps as his cock slides down her throat. He hand moves on its own to the back of her head, guiding her up and down his cock. Her hand fondles and massages his sac. He is close, so close to coming, but not without warning. “Rachel, I…I.” She responds by taking him deeper and applying pressure to his sac. He tries not to grind into her face, tries not to force her face into his groin but with no avail. He comes hard, his cock pulsing deep in her throat; moaning her name as he does. She swallows all of him, leaving him gasping; as she draws off of him and her lips let go of him with a wet *pop*. She stands, pressing herself flush against him and kisses him. He can taste himself on her lips, it should disgust him or repel him; but he finds an odd satisfaction in knowing how her lips came to taste that way.

She kisses his nose, and caresses his face, “did all of your dreams come true?”

“No,” he responds with a smirk, “but I have all night to show you what I dreamed of.” He leads her by the hand to the bed room, and hopes she likes blind folds and bindings.

His eyes flutter open; aware, painfully so, of his reality, his existence. His room is filled with reminders of last night, or is it. She came to him in his sleep. Slowly revealing herself to him; deep brown eyes that sparkle, small delicate fingers, wave of golden hair. Night after night she comes to him in his sleep. Each night revealing more, a softly rounded ass, full breasts, and a small thatch of golden curls that hide a promise of dreams to be satisfied.

He is waiting, constantly waiting.

Waiting for what? A woman, a dream, a wish, a look, a kiss?

 


End file.
